RAIN ON A FUNERAL DAY IS NEVER IRONIC

Make sure you leave your mark.

“The bitterest tear shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone”
                                                                                 Harriet Beecher Stowe

Rain on a Funeral Day is Never Ironic

Fat rain drops snap on metal window sill;
wet life touches each green sprig emerging.
Shakespeare was reborn to stage the scene
of a day when death will be celebrated.

Chirping birds seem not to notice
the swollen tears of human defeat.
What is life?
Song?
Pruning?
Speckled blue eggs? And
flying off to an inevitable death.

Heavy storms cleanse
our losses and births purple crocus--
one stable rock, pastel brown dirt, emerging leaves on an oak tree,
ten thousand washes, the falling of salt, the release of sin, the mourning cloak;
one drop at a time, each will descend from the widening sky
of blue,
gray,
black, and white.

Finality creates a memory, a memorial
written in square roman letters
(dating a beginning and an end)
starting and returning to one’s given name.
TJKG